“I do. And when I’ve got into bed and put out the light, I want you to lie quite still whatever happens. I don’t suppose it will be for long. And if by chance afterwards I turn on the light again, I want you to sit up in bed and look cheerfully round, and laugh or do anything you like. Do you understand?” “I understand what the signor says, but I do not understand what he means,” said Nino. “Well, perhaps you will ... and then after that you can go to sleep. Poor Nino, how I bully and sweat you. Aren’t I a queer creature? You’re sure you quite understand what I say? Say it over to me! And then run downstairs, and see if dinner’s ready.” Colin finished dressing and, when Nino returned, tapped on the door that communicated with Pamela’s room. “Dinner’s ready,” he called out, “and if you are, come in here a minute. You’ve never seen my room, have you?” Pamela entered. For the last two evenings she had only put on a tea-gown for their garden-dinner, but to-night she was resplendent in a blue silver-shot magnificence, cut very low and clinging close to her beautiful girlish figure. Over her arm she carried a cloak of pale pink feathers. Colin stood open-mouthed. “You perfectly glorious vision!” he said. “You’re superb: you’re dazzling!” “Do you like it?” she said. “I was tired of being so dowdy.” “Like it? I adore it,” said he. “It’s really almost worthy of you.” She looked round the room. “Oh, Colin, what a nice room!” she said. “Just a rug and a bed and a washing-stand and a couple of chairs. Tremendously like you, somehow.” He laughed. “I’m a penny, plain,” said he, “and you’re quite twopence, coloured. I bet you that gown didn’t cost less than twopence. Come to dinner. I shall walk backwards in front of you and stare at you.” “You won’t. You’ll give me your arm.” * * * * * The table was set at the end of the pergola, lit by electric lights half screened in the vine-leaves, among which the bunches were beginning to ripen. Curtains of brown sailcloth were hung between the pillars, and Nino had drawn all these but one, so that their table was screened from the house, and the road below. This one square opening looked westwards where the last crimson of sunset was fading, and across it rose the black stem of the stone pine, and, though the night was windless here, some murmur as of the distant sea stirred drowsily in its branches. Nino, serving them, slipped noiselessly to and fro, and presently he brought them their coffee. “Shall I draw the other curtain, signor?” he asked. Colin glanced at Pamela, and there was no need to ask her what she preferred. “Yes, Nino,” he said. “And clear away now. Just leave the cloth.” All through dinner they had been gay on trivial topics, and again and again she had known that battery of swift glances like signals that he had cast on her, as if unable to take his eyes off her for long. Now she pushed back the cloak that she had thrown over her shoulders.